李杏 | Frances J., a lion-hearted girl (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
perfectworry) wrote2012-12-08 11:50 am
perfectworry) wrote2012-12-08 11:50 am
[shared 'verse: cactus flower (jazz + gaslamp fantasy)] Home After Dark + Gaslamp Fantasy
title: Home After Dark
verse: Cactus Flower (Jazz Remix)
community:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
writerverse
prompt: Phase #5: Challenge #2: Weekly Quick Fic #1 ("first date")
word count: 809
rating: G
summary: Mariel sees Aya home safely.
“Time to turn in, I think.” Aya yawned. She stretched and rolled her shoulders. Mariel held her purse for her as they made their way through icy city streets.
“I’ll call a taxi, Ms Scarlett,” said Mariel. “It’s late, a lady shouldn’t be out alone at night.”
They passed under a streetlamp and Aya glowed under the yellowish light, not entirely unlike an angel - if angel wore fringed dresses and borrowed sports coats.
“What about you, my dear?” asked Aya.
“Don’t worry about me,” said Mariel with a shrug. “I can take care of myself.” She gave a rueful smile and rubbed her thumb over the bandage on the opposite hand, a relic from a recent fight; she broke the skin on her hands, and Kotobuki’s nose.
“Oh, please try not to need to,” said Aya. “Sheik, I hate it when you fight. You always get hurt.”
“Not as badly as they do,” said Mariel, with a certain amount of pride. Aya whacked her shoulder with a gloved hand.
“Please, I mean it. Don’t fight.”
“I won’t, I won’t,” said Mariel, waving away Aya’s objections.
A yellow cab pulled around the corner, cutting off their argument. Mariel hailed the driver and helped Aya into the back seat before sliding in beside her. Aya gave her address, and the cab drove off into the night with the two of them seated together, Aya huddled close to Mariel against the cold.
They hadn’t turned the first corner when Aya dozed off into Mariel’s lap, and Mariel shook her awake reluctantly when the cab slowed to a stop in front of the house where she lived with her mother and father.
“You’re home,” said Mariel, giving Aya a nudge.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. She reached for her purse to pay the cabbie, but Mariel gestured for her not to bother and pulled out her wallet.
“On me, Ms Scarlett. Wouldn’t want your daddy to see me letting you pay.”
Aya wrinkled her nose and placed a kiss on Mariel’s cheek. “Wouldn’t want my daddy to see that either, sheik.”
Mariel opened her mouth to speak, but the cabbie cut her off before she could speak. “Let’s go, lovebirds. Time is money.”
Mariel hurried around the cab to help Aya out into the street, steadying her on the slick walkways. “Wait here,” she told the driver, who nodded before she closed the door.
Between the ice and her exhaustion, Aya slipped dangerously on the front steps, but Mariel caught her easily and took the keys from her hand to open the lock.
“Try not to get in trouble,” she said, opening the door.
Aya smiled. “My daddy likes you,” she said.
“Good for him,” said Mariel. “Good night, Ms Scarlett.”
“Good night, sheik. Go home safe.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“I always worry about you until I see you again, sheik.” Aya smiled and hurried up the carpeted steps to her bedroom as quitely as she could. She paused halfway up to wave and blow a kiss goodnight.
Mariel closed the door behind Aya and hurried back down the path to the waiting cab.
“Where to?” he asked, as she slipped back onto the seat, still warm.
“Far enough that she doesn’t see me get out and walk.”
The driver nodded again and turned down a side street, where Mariel ducked out, paid him, and started walking towards the speakeasy she called home. Vallas let her sleep there.
Mariel had met Mr Scarlett once, and what Aya said was true: he had liked her well enough, but he might change his mind if he knew she made a living, if it could be callled that, playing cards and sleeping behind the bar.
She would have to find a more fitting vocation if she wanted to marry Ms Scarlett. Mariel laughed aloud at the thought, her breath steaming in the freezing air. It reminded her of her husband, and she pushed the thought aside to think only of safer things: her remaining debt to Vallas, a Christmas present for Aya, what to do about Kotobuki and Licht.
Earlier in the evening, Mariel had given her jacket to Aya because her little red dress was precious little protection against the chill December air. She hadn’t asked for it back, and though she shivered now with her hands in her pockets, she felt no regret. When Aya returned her coat, it would smell like patchouli.
The thought warmed her as she hurried the last block back home. She let herself back in through a side door, and kicked off her shoes. It wasn’t much warmer inside than out, but Mariel paid it no mind.
Aya would worry until they saw each other again.
title: Gaslamp Romance
verse: Cactus Flower (Gaslamp Romance Remix)
community:writerverse
prompt: Phase #5: Challenge #2: Weekly Quick Fic #1 ("just after eight")
word count: 287
rating: G
summary: Aya visits Mariel at work.
"You're here again." It's difficult to sound annoyed when you're smiling, but Mariel puts in a valiant effort. "Ms Scarlett, I have work to do."
"Not right now you don't," says Aya, as she settles in on the dusty ground; an impressive feat, when one is wearing corsets and voluminous skirts. "It's time for dinner, dear, or maybe it's breakfast for you."
"Lunch, really," says Mariel. It's just after eight; the sun has gone down, but she has hours to go on her shift. She spreads out a tarp; although it's too late to save Ms Scarlett's dress fro the dust, that can be fixed. Oil doesn't wash out so easily.
This, Mariel knows well. Her pants and shirt are stained with it, from working for hours on the engines Vallas needs to get working again. She isn't any good as a steamship hostess, but she can fix anything.
Mariel wipes her hands on her slacks and sits beside Ms Scarlett. She comes every evening with a basket, "for a picnic," she says. Vallas doesn't care when Mariel works, as long as the engines work again when he needs them to.
Aya has already settled down, smoothing her skirts and spreading out the dinner she's cooked tonight.
"When we get married," she says, "we might not afford servants, at least not at first. So I'll need to cook for you, my dear."
This, Aya says with complete and unruffled certainty; the impossibility of her proposal is irrelevant to her, but Mariel supposed that is the way of things when one is born into money.
She says nothing about marriage or the future, only thanks Aya for her food and company and enjoys what they have together now.
verse: Cactus Flower (Jazz Remix)
community:
writerverse prompt: Phase #5: Challenge #2: Weekly Quick Fic #1 ("first date")
word count: 809
rating: G
summary: Mariel sees Aya home safely.
“Time to turn in, I think.” Aya yawned. She stretched and rolled her shoulders. Mariel held her purse for her as they made their way through icy city streets.
“I’ll call a taxi, Ms Scarlett,” said Mariel. “It’s late, a lady shouldn’t be out alone at night.”
They passed under a streetlamp and Aya glowed under the yellowish light, not entirely unlike an angel - if angel wore fringed dresses and borrowed sports coats.
“What about you, my dear?” asked Aya.
“Don’t worry about me,” said Mariel with a shrug. “I can take care of myself.” She gave a rueful smile and rubbed her thumb over the bandage on the opposite hand, a relic from a recent fight; she broke the skin on her hands, and Kotobuki’s nose.
“Oh, please try not to need to,” said Aya. “Sheik, I hate it when you fight. You always get hurt.”
“Not as badly as they do,” said Mariel, with a certain amount of pride. Aya whacked her shoulder with a gloved hand.
“Please, I mean it. Don’t fight.”
“I won’t, I won’t,” said Mariel, waving away Aya’s objections.
A yellow cab pulled around the corner, cutting off their argument. Mariel hailed the driver and helped Aya into the back seat before sliding in beside her. Aya gave her address, and the cab drove off into the night with the two of them seated together, Aya huddled close to Mariel against the cold.
They hadn’t turned the first corner when Aya dozed off into Mariel’s lap, and Mariel shook her awake reluctantly when the cab slowed to a stop in front of the house where she lived with her mother and father.
“You’re home,” said Mariel, giving Aya a nudge.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. She reached for her purse to pay the cabbie, but Mariel gestured for her not to bother and pulled out her wallet.
“On me, Ms Scarlett. Wouldn’t want your daddy to see me letting you pay.”
Aya wrinkled her nose and placed a kiss on Mariel’s cheek. “Wouldn’t want my daddy to see that either, sheik.”
Mariel opened her mouth to speak, but the cabbie cut her off before she could speak. “Let’s go, lovebirds. Time is money.”
Mariel hurried around the cab to help Aya out into the street, steadying her on the slick walkways. “Wait here,” she told the driver, who nodded before she closed the door.
Between the ice and her exhaustion, Aya slipped dangerously on the front steps, but Mariel caught her easily and took the keys from her hand to open the lock.
“Try not to get in trouble,” she said, opening the door.
Aya smiled. “My daddy likes you,” she said.
“Good for him,” said Mariel. “Good night, Ms Scarlett.”
“Good night, sheik. Go home safe.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“I always worry about you until I see you again, sheik.” Aya smiled and hurried up the carpeted steps to her bedroom as quitely as she could. She paused halfway up to wave and blow a kiss goodnight.
Mariel closed the door behind Aya and hurried back down the path to the waiting cab.
“Where to?” he asked, as she slipped back onto the seat, still warm.
“Far enough that she doesn’t see me get out and walk.”
The driver nodded again and turned down a side street, where Mariel ducked out, paid him, and started walking towards the speakeasy she called home. Vallas let her sleep there.
Mariel had met Mr Scarlett once, and what Aya said was true: he had liked her well enough, but he might change his mind if he knew she made a living, if it could be callled that, playing cards and sleeping behind the bar.
She would have to find a more fitting vocation if she wanted to marry Ms Scarlett. Mariel laughed aloud at the thought, her breath steaming in the freezing air. It reminded her of her husband, and she pushed the thought aside to think only of safer things: her remaining debt to Vallas, a Christmas present for Aya, what to do about Kotobuki and Licht.
Earlier in the evening, Mariel had given her jacket to Aya because her little red dress was precious little protection against the chill December air. She hadn’t asked for it back, and though she shivered now with her hands in her pockets, she felt no regret. When Aya returned her coat, it would smell like patchouli.
The thought warmed her as she hurried the last block back home. She let herself back in through a side door, and kicked off her shoes. It wasn’t much warmer inside than out, but Mariel paid it no mind.
Aya would worry until they saw each other again.
title: Gaslamp Romance
verse: Cactus Flower (Gaslamp Romance Remix)
community:
writerverse prompt: Phase #5: Challenge #2: Weekly Quick Fic #1 ("just after eight")
word count: 287
rating: G
summary: Aya visits Mariel at work.
"You're here again." It's difficult to sound annoyed when you're smiling, but Mariel puts in a valiant effort. "Ms Scarlett, I have work to do."
"Not right now you don't," says Aya, as she settles in on the dusty ground; an impressive feat, when one is wearing corsets and voluminous skirts. "It's time for dinner, dear, or maybe it's breakfast for you."
"Lunch, really," says Mariel. It's just after eight; the sun has gone down, but she has hours to go on her shift. She spreads out a tarp; although it's too late to save Ms Scarlett's dress fro the dust, that can be fixed. Oil doesn't wash out so easily.
This, Mariel knows well. Her pants and shirt are stained with it, from working for hours on the engines Vallas needs to get working again. She isn't any good as a steamship hostess, but she can fix anything.
Mariel wipes her hands on her slacks and sits beside Ms Scarlett. She comes every evening with a basket, "for a picnic," she says. Vallas doesn't care when Mariel works, as long as the engines work again when he needs them to.
Aya has already settled down, smoothing her skirts and spreading out the dinner she's cooked tonight.
"When we get married," she says, "we might not afford servants, at least not at first. So I'll need to cook for you, my dear."
This, Aya says with complete and unruffled certainty; the impossibility of her proposal is irrelevant to her, but Mariel supposed that is the way of things when one is born into money.
She says nothing about marriage or the future, only thanks Aya for her food and company and enjoys what they have together now.